


Words in the Air

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time, Guilt, Loss of Virginity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 09:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: There are a good many things about her husband which catch Catelyn off-guard, but one she does not see coming, is his voice.





	Words in the Air

There are a good many things about her husband which catch Catelyn off-guard, but one she does not see coming, is his voice.

In hindsight, she will think herself foolish to be so surprised. She has met men from other regions of Westeros before; she has learned that their accents can vary wildly. It's just, apart from Brandon - whose voice was so distinctive, she could not associate it with anyone else if she tried - she does not think she has ever heard a Northern man before.

Lord Eddard Stark does not speak much, that does not make it any easier to get a handle on him. But the few words he does give her, the ones he is forced to – his vows; the low, gruff Rs that carry on the air and hang there, that fill the sept with something base and wild.

Catelyn shivers.

When her Lord Husband takes her maidenhead, it is as awkward as any man would have expected. The crowds of their wedding wait outside the door, wanting to know the deed has been done, the alliance has been sealed, but not expecting it to be anything more than that. Catelyn expects no more either, and so she lies upon the mattress with legs spread, trying not to panic, and hoping at the very least that it will not hurt.

Ned Stark is quiet, as she may have expected. He does not warn her before his fingers find her nethers, already hard with callouses, and softly stroke back and forth, spreading what moisture he can find. "My lady?" he asks, gently, and Catelyn shivers once more as his low, deep voice rocks through her, like a thunderclap that shakes the castle to its foundations. "Is this alright with you?"

After a second, she notes, subtly arching her hips up and towards the friction he provides her, light and teasing and making her squirm with anticipation. Ned groans against her neck and Catelyn, perhaps too softly for him to hear her, gasps – his dark noises seem to go straight through her, remind her of the things they say about these wild, barbaric Northerners, men who are not so far removed from wolves – she's sure Ned Stark would take that as an insult if she said it to him aloud, but still, she can't help but wonder what it means, here and now.

One of his fingers slips inside her and she is wet for him, as just his few words have made her so. Despite her grief and her confusion, when she feels a Stark's finger in her cunt she keens toward it, wanting something from this strange man, but she cannot put a name to what. He kisses her neck and his beard grazes her skin. She moans again. "My lady..." he whispers, and part of her worries she may be embarrassing him, that this is not what he expected of Hoster Tully's firstborn daughter, but well - she can hardly seem to stop herself.

There is a second finger, then a third inside her before she even realises, and despite her fears it does not hurt, not really anyway; it feels nice, being stretched and prepared like this. _You barely know this man,_ whispers a voice at the back of her head. _He is not Brandon_. And yet she curls upon his digits anyway.

When she looks down, she can see his cock - curled loosely in his fist, red and ready for action. She whimpers. Most men would have prized her legs apart and pushed their way in a while ago, and she feels a strange rush of affection toward him, this foreign stranger. "Lord Stark," she chokes out, and it seems funny, that he has three fingers inside her and yet she still does not know how to call him by his first name.

"My lady," he says, and at least, he seems as lost between Intimacy and courtesy as she is. 

His fingers fuck her in time with his words, and she lays upon the bed, craving more but not yet capable of asking. "Forgive me, my lady, you feel so - wet - but I - have to make you - gods be good..."

She peaks without warning him, scarcely knowing what is about to happen herself, just shrieking for whoever is listening outside their door to hear and finding herself clenching hard upon his fingers. _What must they think of me?_ she wonders, but it is neither here nor there. "Gods be good," Lord Stark groans into her ear, and that voice, gods, he sounds as if he can barely speak she has him so tightly wound. He rests his stubble jaw against her neck, and it makes her want him to bite her, as wolves do with their bitches.

When his fingers are gone and he presses his cock against her slit, she lets it happen with little more than a shudder. He is her husband, whatever that may mean, and this union must be sealed. It's then he chooses to kiss her upon the mouth, and she cries out against him. It feels more honest here than it did under the light of the sun in the Godswood, and distracts her as he finally pushes into her  body.

She feels sore and sensitive, but her cunt opens so readily for him it almost feels treasonous. "Forgive me, my lady," he groans as he sheaths himself, and Catelyn wonders if it's really her forgiveness he wants, or Brandon's. "You were so - oh - and I needed..."

Catelyn gasps, and she feels as if she can relate. Not thinking properly, she grabs his hair - grown down to the shoulders, as these Northerners do - with both hands, as she keens underneath him, all but begging him to go deeper. "Keep talking," she whispers, cheeks red with need. "Gods, Ned, just..."

"Cat?" he asks, perhaps puzzled by her asking anything from him. That only turns her redder, but she can't back down now.

"Your voice," she moans, letting his hands find her hips, hesitantly pull her up higher toward him. "It does - something - Gods, Lord Stark, keep talking, please."

" _Fuck_!" She cries out as his control slips, drives himself in down to the base. "My lady, Catelyn, Cat, I - your cunt is so tight,  I want to..." she shivers at that gruff voice that fills her senses, wraps her arms around his shoulders, urging him on. "...Want to pound you until you scream, want to fill you up with come, dear Gods, my lady–"

Catelyn comes a second time, biting upon his muscled shoulder until she leaves a sharp red mark.

Ned follows her not long afterward, and she cries out as she feels his seed drip between her legs. It is necessary; we need an heir, she thinks, but that does not explain the guilty thrill she feels when she thinks of herself, stained with the come of a man she, still, barely knows.

That is the problem, isn't it? To fuck a stranger for her father's sakes is one thing, but to actually enjoy it... Ned stares at her as they pull apart, and he too seems uncertain. He must feel guilty for having defiled his brother's betrothed. Catelyn's grief comes rushing back to surface, and with it, a vague, irrational flush of anger. Ned might feel guilty for fucking her, but he doesn't have to worry he's a-

"My lady?" he runs his fingers through her hair, still wet with her juices, gods be good. She soon realises she is not angry at him. She doesn't know what she's angry at, but not him. "Are you alright?"

She has no idea. "...I did not expect to enjoy that," she admits, letting this stranger in on a secret. They are married, after all. "I'm not sure what to do not." And she laughs, briefly, at her own guilt and absurdity.

"I'm sorry," Ned Stark tells her, arms wrapping around her body.

She shakes her head. "No, it isn't your fault, I just..." she trails off. She just fucked her husband - the brother of the man she's been betrothed to since she was twelve years old, who just died. What does she make of that? "I just need some sleep, that's all," she says. She pauses, then scoffs. "Although I'm not sure if I can."

"I could sing you a lullaby, if you wish." Catelyn looks up curiously. Ned Stark turns pink, avoiding her eye. It embarrasses him, but he wants to help her. He has no real reason to, but he does. 

She raises an eyebrow at him, teasingly. "Do you Northerners sing the sane lullabies as we do?" she asks. "Or will this be entirely new?"

"...I'm not sure," he smiles at her. "You'll have to tell me."

She smiles in turn, rolling over and pressing her back against him, letting him wrap her in his thick arms. The song he sings her is utterly unfamiliar. And yet, it soothes her to sleep anyway.


End file.
